Walk With You In Dreams
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: The djinn is dead, but Dean did not leave behind the djinn's world entirely. Dean/Carmen.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Walk With You In Dreams

Author: MissAnnThropic

Spoilers: What Is and What Should Never Be

LiveJournal: miss_annthropic(dot)livejournal(dot)com

Summary: The djinn is dead, but Dean did not leave behind the djinn's world entirely. Dean/Carmen.

Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(

Author's Note: I make no excuses for "What Is and What Should Never Be" being my favorite Supernatural episode. Mostly because of Dean/Carmen. I loved them together so much, so this fic was just waiting for me to write it.

This version has been cleaned up to make it ff(dot)net-friendly, but if you want the uncut, NC-17 rated version, go to my LJ. Enjoy!

* * *

He remembers things that didn't happen. Granted, it was all a djinn-induced hallucination, so _none_ of it was actually real, but he came out of it with vivid memories of the too-few days in that other world. He made a decision to cherish them. They weren't real and he knew that, but real life gave the Winchesters so little joy. Too few good memories. Dean was going to seize them where he could, even if they were imaginary. Two beautiful days in another life where guns didn't fill the Impala's trunk to the brim.

But as time goes by, he remembers more.

He doesn't know where the memories that aren't memories are coming from. They accumulate in his sleep at first, unfolding in dreams that are so much beyond dreams. He wakes up and he could swear he's in his apartment, Carmen lying supple and _his_ beside him.

He doesn't tell Sam. Part of him is worried Sam will find a solution or cure, and Dean isn't sure he wants that other life to disappear.

He begins to look forward to sleep, where he can be another person. Where he can live another life.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Carmen, she was _gorgeous_," Dean gushed, absolutely and thoroughly smitten.

Carmen smiled softly at him, letting him talk, and trailed her hand across the width of his shoulders as she moved past the table into the kitchen.

Dean grinned, turning the chair he was sitting in to face her as she put her dirty dinner plate in the sink. "And _lines_… this baby had such a fine body. Telling you, _work. of. art_."

Carmen chuckled and turned to face him, leaning back against the counter as she leveled a look at him. Her expression looked stern and sincere, but from across the kitchen Dean could see the playful light in her eyes that dispelled all his worries that he might actually be in trouble. "Dean…" Carmen began evenly, "I can handle sharing you with the Impala, but if you're going to turn into a car-slut on me for every muscle car that comes along…"

"You don't have to worry about that!" Dean proclaimed, almost indignantly. "You know there's only one car for me."

Carmen rolled her eyes and came to fetch his plate and put it in the sink, though Dean cleaned them so well they could practically go back in the cupboard unwashed. "Your loyalty to _your car_ is really touching," Carmen teased as she reached the table. "Brings a tear to my eye."

When Carmen reached for his empty plate, Dean caught her wrist and tugged her into him. Carmen lost her balance, and Dean so _considerately_ caught her up in his lap.

Carmen laughed and wiggled to face him. "Very smooth, Winchester."

Dean smiled up at her. "I try. Is it working?"

"Well… let me think." Carmen seemed deep in thought then rearranged herself on the chair until she settled down on his lap, straddling him sweet and fantastic, for a second all long legs and warm thighs. Dean's brain lost several evolutionary milestones.

Carmen wrapped her arms around Dean's neck, leaned down, and kissed him.

Before Dean could reciprocate, Carmen pulled her mouth away and asked, "What kind of car was it again?"

"Huh?"

Carmen licked her lips very deliberately. "The one you were fawning over in the garage today? What kind of car was it?"

Dean tried to remember, he really did. "Car?"

Carmen broke into a self-satisfied grin. "Mmmm… good answer," she purred, then kissed him again. And kept kissing him.

Dean kissed her back, tongue sweeping into her mouth. She tasted like spaghetti, and given Dean's predilection for food, he liked the combination. Carmen and Italian. He tangled one hand in her black hair, the other curling around her back to pull her closer.

Carmen rocked her body, suggested a rhythm they had perfected in bed. Just the way he liked it. She knew him so well. It was almost scary how little she had to do to drive him wild. For Carmen, it was almost instinct by now. Her body spoke Dean Winchester.

Dean moved from kissing her on the mouth to suckling on her neck, his face buried in her dark curtain of hair. Her shampoo had a vanilla scent to it that settled warm and adored in his chest every time he breathed.

Carmen tilted her head to give him her neck.

* * *

Dean woke without reason and lay in bed practically panting. The motel room was dark, and Sam was fast asleep in the second bed. A passing car threw a creeping pattern of bars along the walls of the room. The air conditioner was a dull background noise to the sound of Dean's own heartbeat.

Dean stared up at the ceiling in a daze, mind still mired in his dreamscape. His body was still there, too. He was aroused, just where Carmen had brought him before it was snatched away.

He had to take a second and comprehend she wasn't there, wouldn't finish what she'd started. He wanted to groan at the cruelty of waking when he did. Just a little bit longer, that's all they needed…

More than the needs of his body, there was a hollow ache in his chest. Every time he woke, it was to the thought 'no… I wanted to stay'. In that other life, that other world.

But he was awake, in his own shitty life, and he had to deal with that.

Dean crammed the pillow up under his head and scowled into the darkness as he tried to get back to sleep.

He wanted to go back.

He _missed_ her.

To Be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Sam doesn't say anything when Dean takes to sleeping a lot more than he used to. He can tell there's something bothering his older brother, and he's smart enough to realize it traces back to that djinn-world he will barely discuss.

It's become almost a chore for Dean to drag himself to bars when they get in to a motel after all day on the road. All he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep. In the morning, he fights waking up. When he does wake, he's sour and morose.

Sam notices, but he doesn't hound Dean about it. When they have bad hunts, it can take a while to get over it. It's hard to watch people die, and Sam figures in a way Dean saw their mom and Jess and no telling who else die all over again. Dean was with them one day, and then he wasn't. Sam got that it would be hard to shake.

He doesn't say anything about the sleeping and the stretches of silence, but he does finally ask Dean if he's all right when his older brother comes back from the store one day, a supply run for the basics, and instead of his normal odorless shampoo he's bought one vanilla-scented.

"Dean…" he asks as he holds the bottle of shampoo in his hand, "are you okay?"

Dean grabs the shampoo and doesn't answer.

* * *

Dean woke slowly to the feel of Carmen's fingertips tracing the curve of his naked back. Her touch was feather-soft, and it made Dean wonder how long she'd been doing it before he actually woke up. It felt wonderful, and Dean smiled into his pillow and stretched.

Carmen's voice smiled. "You're like a cat."

Dean purred, "A sexy, manly lion kind of cat, I hope."

Carmen's hand stopped traveling, her palm came to rest flat against his shoulder, and she leaned into him. Her bare torso pressed beautifully to his back.

"Actually, I was thinking a mangy stray that gets fed once and won't leave."

Dean snorted and rolled. His arms came out, caught Carmen on the roll as she was pulled across him, and then he was facing her. She smiled down at him.

"But a _lovable_ mangy stray, right?" Dean asked cheekily.

Carmen kissed him. "I suppose I'll keep you."

Something about her choice of words struck him. He froze and stared at her, transfixed by everything that was her. Carmen snuggled down in his arms, her head on his chest.

He never wanted her anywhere else but cradled against his chest. Suddenly, it was terrifying to contemplate a life without her sleepy and soft against him.

Dean hugged her, maybe a little too tight, but Carmen didn't protest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you," he whispered, and the words rang out of him in the quiet room, lived as words had never existed for Dean before.

"I love you, too," Carmen answered easily, like it came as natural as breathing. Natural as her heart beating to love Dean.

Dean held her. He clung to her like she could be taken away.

* * *

"Dean?"

Dean woke to find himself curled against the passenger door of the Impala, his brother's hand on his shoulder. He blinked in confusion, uncertain why his arms were so empty holding only himself as they crossed over his chest and tucked against his ribcage. He thought he'd been in bed, and Carmen's ghost was on every inch of his soul.

Dean fought off the haze of his dreams and blinked blearily at his brother. "Sam?" Unspoken was the demand 'why did you wake me?'

Sam was looking at him in concern from behind the wheel, where he was taking his turn driving. "You were breathing funny, man. You okay?"

Dean huffed grumpily and curled tighter into himself, as if he could physically pull himself into his inner world.

To Be Continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Dean could remember the exact moment he realized he loved Carmen.

They had been on one of their Saturday drives.

They had been dating for two months, and Dean was spending more time at her place than his own bachelor pad. It was forgone that he'd wake up in her bed on a Saturday morning.

When Dean had a bad week at the garage, Carmen wouldn't try to talk him out of it. She didn't ask him to talk about it. Instead, she woke him up around lunchtime on Saturday by jingling the keys to the Impala next to his ear. Dean would get up, dress, and they'd hit the road.

Driving was therapeutic to Dean. It relaxed him. The open road, a badass car, classic rock pounding from the sound system. _That_ was Dean's heart-to-heart. Carmen understood that about him, and she made him take the time to enjoy the road. She'd pack a lunch for them, and for the first half of the ride she sat in the passenger seat and said nothing. She let Dean work it out, get away from the week and bask in the road. When he'd left his mood behind, she was there for him.

Dean would find someplace to pull over and stop. That time, it was a patch of field. There were no signs of people as far as the eye could see. Lunch was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips. Not exactly fine dining, but Dean wasn't picky and PB&J traveled well in the car when Carmen had no way of knowing how long it would be before Dean stopped.

The real treat of the meal were the two long-neck beers of Dean's favorite brand.

By the time they finished eating and were nursing the last of their beers, Dean was laughing and couldn't remember what had been so bad about the week he'd just escaped. Carmen was playful and touchy.

And then Dean smiled as they both perched on the hood of the Impala when a great idea came to him. "Hey, Carmen… you ever seen the Whitesnake music video?"

Carmen took a swig. "Mmm… which one?"

"_The_ one… you know… David Coverdale's girlfriend on the hood of the jaguar."

"Oh… yeah, sure," she answered, not sure where this was going.

Dean beamed and looked down meaningfully at the black hood beneath them.

Carmen busted out laughing. "No way!"

"Come on… _please_?"

He expected to beg and plead a lot more and her still not do it, but Carmen thought about it a second, then stood and purposefully handed him her beer.

"Seriously?!" Dean almost squeaked.

Carmen kicked off her shoes and put a foot on the front bumper. "Stand back."

Dean practically leapt off the hood and turned to gape.

Carmen carefully crawled on to the hood, blushed three shades darker, then just went for it. She writhed and plastered herself to the hood in about a dozen different poses, and Dean supposed it did look pretty silly (especially since Carmen was in jeans and a faded shirt from her college days), but he had never seen anything so erotic in his whole life.

Carmen finally couldn't keep a straight face anymore and started laughing. She laid splayed on her back on the hood, legs bent, arms thrown open, and hair fanning over the sleek black paintjob as she laughed her heart out to the sky.

That was even hotter.

Dean put down the beers on the ground and went to the Impala. Carmen tried to get off without putting dents in the hood (and seriously, at _that_ moment, Dean didn't care), then she was sliding right into Dean's waiting arms.

Carmen tucked her face against his shoulder, body still shaking with laughter. "I can't believe I did that."

But she had. For him. Because he'd had a shitty week and she wanted him to feel better. She'd let go her inhibitions and done something embarrassing and spontaneous because she knew Dean would like it.

_That_ was the moment Dean knew he loved Carmen.

* * *

Bit by bit, Dean starts to ignore the chicks in the bars. At first he found one here, another there, that he thought he could make do with. But the qualifications each girl must meet expands, the qualified applicant pool narrows, and eventually it's all but over before it starts because no babe in a bar is ever what Dean is looking for.

He's looking for dark hair, brown eyes, luminous smile… and someone who will dance on the hood for him. He doesn't doubt there are any number of women he could talk on to the hood, but it would be too easy and they'd make the act cheap, the performing tricks of shameless prostitutes. Whether selling for money or beer, it made no difference.

There's not a single one of those bimbos he wants putting a knee in his baby. He'd want to shoot them the first second the Impala's metal gave a thud of protest. Dean honestly thinks the Impala would protest on principle, because he knows she would only let Carmen do that to her.

The last few times he tries with women, because he's lonely and he wants contact and needs sex, it's a painful series of wrongs… they look wrong, taste wrong, smell wrong, move wrong. He leaves the encounter feeling guilty for sleeping with someone less than the woman in his dreams. She deserves better than to stand with such unworthy competition.

Sam starts to really worry, because Dean not interested in women is one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse in his world, but Dean won't give Sam any clues why all the women who were good enough before are beneath him now.

Dean doesn't explain that every woman on earth is now held to an impossible standard.

The Carmen Porter measure.

* * *

When Dean walks out of the old record store and heads for the Impala, Sam doesn't know what to expect. There is a staple brand and type of music Dean would pick, and Sam figures he'll just be happy Dean with adding some variety to the collection. It will be mullet rock, but _new_ mullet rock. Dean has an ungodly tolerance for listening to the same dozen tapes forever, and Sam likes something new now and then. Even new mullet rock. Sam will take what he can get.

"So?" Sam asks when Dean gets in the car. He is hoping Dean might show a little enthusiasm. He's been so low-key since the djinn incident. Sam can't remember the last time he saw Dean smile, and that really bothers the youngest Winchester.

Dean pulls a scratched and battered cassette tape case out of the small paper bag, opens it, and sticks the cassette in the Impala's player. He turns the dial on the volume.

Music begins to spill forth from the speakers. It is Dean's brand of mullet, but Sam isn't as versed in the rock of 80s as Dean.

"Who is that?" he asks.

"Whitesnake," Dean grumps the answer, then starts the car.

To Be Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sat Indian-style on the floor of Carmen's apartment and leveled a serious look at his target.

"All right now," he said while pointing a finger, "listen up. Your name is Shelby. Got that? _Shelby_."

Opposite him, the rolly-polly yellow lab puppy yipped and bounded clumsily into Dean's lap. Her tongue lapped at his chin and ears happily, heedless of the serious conversation they supposedly were having.

"Baby, I don't think she's taking me seriously," Dean complained, trying to sound truly put out but breaking out into a hearty chuckle as the puppy continued her love assault.

Carmen, leaning against the kitchen counter with her chin propped in her hand, smiled, though whether it was more at the term of endearment or the puppy's antics Dean wasn't sure. It was a private joke with them, that Dean had really shown his colors when he deigned to call anything besides the Impala 'baby'.

Dean finally managed to get the puppy under control and looked toward Carmen. "You _sure_ you're cool with me naming her? If you don't like Shelby, you can pick something else."

Carmen smiled brighter and shook her head. "I want you to name her." Carmen came around the kitchen counter to sit on the floor opposite Dean. The puppy, now dubbed Shelby, fought out of Dean's lap and raced across the hardwood floor toward Carmen, slipping and landing on her chin in a heap halfway. Carmen leaned forward and scooped the puppy up in her arms. Shelby, undeterred by her klutziness, began to launch a tongue bath attack on Carmen. Carmen laughed and juggled the little bundle of energy. Dean watched the two and decided he just about loved them together.

"I should have talked to you before I brought home a puppy," Carmen said as she fended off the puppy's undying affection with little success, "but Teresa's mother was giving them away. I couldn't resist."

"You don't need my permission to get a dog," Dean pointed out with a smile, "it's your apartment."

Carmen planted a kiss on the puppy's head and countered, "Yes, but you live here, too."

And that was pretty much the day when Dean officially moved in with Carmen. The moment was not lost on Dean, and to hide the goofy grin trying to win over his face, he said, "You know, when you called the garage and told me you'd gotten a puppy… the guys all told me I should run for the hills."

Carmen put the puppy down on the floor and got up to fetch the old pair of sweat pants she'd knotted and turned into a chew toy. "How come?"

Dean got up and strolled casually in Carmen's direction, careful to avoid Shelby as she jumped at Dean's pant leg. "Oh, they said that when a girlfriend gets a puppy, it's a gateway pet. Guys swore up and down if you got a puppy, means you were feeling out how I'd react to the idea of a _baby_."

Carmen stopped playing with Shelby and looked up, stunned, at Dean. "They said that, huh?" she finally asked.

Dean nodded. "Yep… sure did." He could see Carmen practically squirming. They had never talked about children. _Never_. They'd been dating for quite a while, and Dean had never loved any of his prior girlfriends the way he loved Carmen, but still… they hadn't treaded into those kinds of serious, life-altering discussions.

"Men…" Carmen snorted. "It's just a _dog_."

"That's what I said," Dean agreed.

Carmen nodded and threw the toy for Shelby. "Right."

The air could be cut with a knife. Dean moved closer to Carmen, forcing her to look up at him. "But I have to admit, getting it from all sides today, I believed them for a little while."

Carmen smirked up at him. "Yeah? You must have been flipping out."

Dean snaked his arms around her waist. "Honestly? Not really."

Carmen looked genuinely surprised. She studied his face, and Dean watched a flush color her cheeks as they stood inches apart. "You weren't freaking out when you thought… you're telling me the idea of having a baby didn't send _you_, Dean Winchester, into a panic?"

Dean smiled lazily. "I really thought it would, too, but it didn't. When I got in the car to come home, I said to myself 'maybe it's just a dog, but if isn't…'," Dean shrugged, "I'm open to the idea."

Carmen stared up at him in silence a long time, her expression unreadable, and Dean started to get worried he'd totally misjudged Carmen's feelings on the topic. He knew Carmen loved kids, he knew Carmen loved him, so he had just put the two together and _assumed_…

"Ah, you know… just so you know," Dean muttered, his confidence failing him in the face of her silence.

And then Carmen's arms were thrown around his neck and she was kissing him.

So it seemed Dean did know Carmen pretty well after all.

When they broke apart, Carmen was beaming up at him. "Do you know how much I love you?"

Something in him hurt, but hurt in the way it hurt to eat ten pounds of chocolate. A good hurt of too much of a good thing. "I've got a pretty good guess."

Carmen shook her head ruefully. "We'll talk about the baby thing… I mean, if you really…"

Dean kissed her again, languid and soft. "I really," he whispered, their lips still touching.

Carmen breathed against his mouth, her hands straying over his chest, and it might have moved into the bedroom if a trickling sound hadn't drawn their attention to Shelby, who was squatting and peeing on the floor.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe we should have the conversation after we've mastered house-training," he teased, then marched over and picked up the puppy (who looked entirely too proud of her puddle). "Come on, girl, outside."

Carmen came to clean up the mess with a wad of paper towels, but before Dean could get out the door with the puppy she kissed Shelby on the nose and Dean on the cheek.

It made Dean happy, goofily so, as he tucked Shelby under his arm and took her outside.

* * *

Sam worries when Dean is out of his sight. It's ridiculous and Sam knows it, but Dean still isn't acting like his normal self, hasn't since Joliet, and Sam worries. He doesn't like to not be watching his older brother; he's scared that he doesn't know what Dean is going to do in the state he's in.

Sam loses track of Dean in a small town in Kentucky, and for ten minutes he searches the streets for him like a father whose four-year-old has wandered off.

He catches sight of a familiar leather jacket in the window of a pet store.

Hurrying inside, Sam stops cold when he sees Dean standing next to a glass pen of puppies, holding one of the little yellow animals in his arms.

When they were kids, it was always Sam who asked if they could keep every stray that crossed their path… not Dean. Never Dean.

Sam opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the puppy in Dean's arms twists, cranes up to lick the underside of Dean's jaw, and a look crosses Dean's face that isn't so much happy as it is pained.

But still, Dean holds the young animal close. Almost as if unable to bear letting it go.

To Be Continued…


	5. Chapter 5

There were some hunts Dean came away from feeling bone-deep exhausted, and others left him wired. He realized in chagrin that when he was younger, the hunts were more apt to wire him than wear him out. Lately, the opposite seemed to be true.

Maybe it wasn't just age. He had a good incentive to sleep ever since the djinn's touch gave him a retreat, a place where his life was different. Where he had Carmen.

Always in the past, if Dean was keyed up and coasting on left-over adrenaline after a hunt, he found himself a willing woman to share the ride with him. He'd never had much trouble rustling up a partner for the night. But now, to be with the only woman with whom sex even sounded appealing, he had to sleep. So he did, and she was always there waiting to welcome him home.

But there were still days when he was wired instead of tired, and no matter how hard he willed it to take him, sleep was elusive. Carmen dancing like a mirage just out of his reach, and Dean a lost traveler dying of thirst.

Sharking bars for someone else to bleed of his excess adrenaline high was still an option, and there was always the possibility some brunette would catch his eye, but every day the idea seemed more and more… adulterous. The logical part of Dean's brain told him that was silly, but there it was.

So when Dean found himself practically vibrating after they dispatched a particularly tenacious poltergeist – when Dean _knew_ sleep would be a dream in itself – he opted to go for a walk. He caught a glimpse of Sam looking at him like he'd announced his intention to audition for American Idol before he closed the motel room door behind him and marched briskly into the night.

He felt like he walked the block for hours in the moonlight, though he knew it couldn't have been anywhere near that, if only for the fact Sam would have already come looking for him.

He ached to go _home_.

Not since he was four did he have that yearning, but it was reborn in him, and it was a powerful sensation. As if his homing beacon were making up for all those years it lay broken inside him.

All Dean wanted was to go home, but the home he longed for wasn't real. Moments flared up where the one thing Dean wanted more than anything in the world was to hold Carmen in his arms… _really_ hold her. He thought it telling how of all the people in the djinn's reality, the only one that still remained was Carmen. In his dreams, he never saw that other Sam. He never saw Jessica, as if the fire had never taken her life. He never saw his mother, who outlived their soft-ball-playing father. None of them. Only Carmen.

"Maybe you were the one in all that that I needed most, baby," Dean mumbled aloud, chest one tight ache, as he came back around to the front of the motel.

The Impala gleamed silver on black in the moonlight, an elegantly lying panther of a car, and Dean gravitated toward her because if there was anything he could call home in the waking world, it was that car. She wouldn't hold him, wouldn't throw an arm over him and nuzzle down to sleep, but Dean was down to taking whatever he could get.

So clearly, he could see Carmen leaning back against that car's driver's side door and looking up at him when she caught his movement from the corner of her eye. She beamed at him, bright even in the night, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

"About time you got back," she said huskily, "I've been waiting."

Dean moved toward her with fervor. The pent-up sexual energy he'd thought atrophied by the walk surged through him anew at the sight of her. He wanted her, _needed_ her. Every inch of his skin, every muscle and bone, screamed for her. _Carmen_.

When he was in reach, Carmen reached out, fisted his jacket in her hands, and tugged him roughly into her. Her need and desire perfectly matched his. Their mouths met in a fervent clash of tongues and teeth.

Dean's hands tracked over her clothes, gripping through fabric to knead flesh beneath. His grip was bruising, but he couldn't stop. He figured he didn't need to when Carmen bit his bottom lip in equal passion.

Dean tucked his face into her neck, breathing in her smell.

"_Dean_," Carmen gasped into his ear.

"Dean?"

Dean's hands shot out and caught him just before he fell face-first into the car. He blinked, bewildered and confused. Everything changed in a heartbeat, one second passion, the next so much cold and emptiness that Dean wanted to scream.

"Dean?" Sam's voice, more worried than before.

Still dazed, Dean forced himself to look up, follow the voice, and saw Sam standing in the motel room doorway, looking out at his brother standing in the parking lot alone next to the car.

"What?" Dean barked in annoyance. He had been _happy_ a second ago, damnit. He silently took stock, felt out the limits of his body that was still flush and taut. It had been _real_. He could even swear he caught a scent of vanilla.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, about to come over to Dean by the sound of his voice.

He didn't want Sam coming close enough to see the tell-tale signs of excitement that still had their claws in Dean. "Fine!" he answered.

Sam didn't seem to like that answer, and he almost crossed the parking lot anyway, but mercifully Sam gave ground. "Okay… I was going to order in. What do you want for dinner?"

"Whatever you want," Dean replied.

"All right," Sam returned, paused, then went back into the motel room.

Dean looked away from the motel door, down into Carmen's laughing eyes as she stood framed between his arms as they braced his weight against the Impala.

She began to laugh out loud and lowered her face, forehead coming to rest against Dean's chest. Dean turned his face into her hair and breathed in deeply the smell of Carmen and vanilla. After a beat, he joined her laughter with his own.

* * *

The first time Carmen comes into his waking world, it's a jarring incursion. But only the first time. Then she's there to stay.

* * *

To Be Continued


	6. Chapter 6

Sam doesn't notice right away, the looks and glances that draw Dean's attention to empty air. He's too lost in the fact Dean isn't spending just as much time in bed as out anymore. He clings to the fact Dean starts to smile again, joke like he used to, and that's all Sam can ask for in the beginning.

There are still little things, of course. Dean starts suggesting Sam take the back seat 'to catch a few winks' when Sam used to be fine with curling up in the front passenger side for a catnap, but he doesn't linger on the rhyme or reason. There _is_ more room in the back, and he convinces himself it's just Dean being overbearing. Looking out for Sammy. And when it's Sam's turn at the wheel, Dean takes the back. He never has before, but it doesn't exactly scream demonic possession. Sam lets it be what it appears to be.

There's the new back seat fascination, and Dean still isn't catting around, chasing anything with breasts like he used to, but Sam can live with that. He's spent so long dealing with so much stranger, so much more that is un-Dean-like, that Sam does his best to dismiss the rest.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Carmen asked lazily.

Dean, sitting behind the wheel as the Impala ate up miles of highway, looked down at Carmen lying with her head in his lap. He had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was threading absently through her hair. Sam was sprawled in the back seat, napping. More often than not, hunting was a night job.

Those hours when one of them was catching up on sleep on the road used to be lonely hours. Not anymore.

Dean studied Carmen a second. She was watching him with her soft, dark eyes. There was little else in the world to her just then than Dean.

"Thought we'd head west," Dean answered. "Why… where do you want to go?"

Carmen shrugged and snuggled down more comfortably in his lap. "Wherever you want to go is fine with me." She reached over to turn up the stereo, just a little (Sam _was_ still sleeping), until the background whisper of Whitesnake became definite music softly filling the car.

Dean's hand continued stroking over her soft, silky hair.

Once, Carmen turned her face into his palm when it came up to start at her temple and kissed the center of his hand.

Dean smiled.

* * *

The demise of a heavy-duty witch in San Diego was cause for celebration, which led the Winchester brothers to the Happily Ever Hour bar for some drinks and pool. The boys were in high spirits, despite wearing the battle scars of a hard-won victory, but that would be felt tomorrow. Along with the hangover. For the night, they were relishing being alive.

It was like old times.

Dean imbibed in a few too many, and that was when Sam started to see it. They were seated at a small circular table with stools for chairs, just the two of them rehashing their win over the witch. The bar waitress was starting to eye them contemplatively, no doubt trying to determine which order for another round she would have to deny and cut the two men off. She hadn't denied them yet, and Sam and Dean kept tossing them back.

Sam was an intense drunk… instead of becoming bubbly, he zeroed in on little things in a very OCD way. Dean once said he wanted to try and get Sam so drunk the kid got down on the floor to study the carpet at great length. It hadn't happened yet, but Sam honestly wouldn't be surprised if it did. He got hyper-attentive to inane shit when he drank.

That's how he noticed Dean, tipsy and happy, every so often sliding a look to the empty space next to him. Again and again, that spared glance, accompanied by a truly saccharine, _content_ smile. A couple of times, Dean even _leaned_ to that side. Once, his hand slid over the table top toward the empty space before diverting back to his glass of beer.

Sam was drunk too, so he didn't hold on to it long, but the observation tucked itself away in the back of his mind and _festered_.

* * *

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had pulled over at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere to take advantage of the public restrooms. While they were stopped anyway, Sam complained of needing to stretch his legs. The Impala was a big, roomy car, but Sam had almost unnaturally long legs, and sometimes being folded up for long periods (even in a big car) was tortuous.

After using the facilities, Sam wasn't ready to jump back into the car and hit the road yet ago, so he went for a walk along the shoulder of the road. Dean watched him for a moment, ever the big brother, then apparently decided Sam couldn't get himself into too much trouble and perched on the weather-beaten picnic table, his back to Sam.

Sam took his time. They weren't on their way to a hunt, there was no one to save, and Sam felt he hadn't really relaxed since Joliet, which was months ago. Dean's behavior had never returned to completely Dean-normal, and until it did Sam was on edge. So it was nice to stroll under the sun, wind in his hair, and blessedly free from Dean's recent obsession with playing Whitesnake.

Sam stopped before he really wanted to and turned back toward the car. He could see Dean on the picnic table facing the tree line. Sam stood still and frowned. Dean was turning to look right every so often, and if Sam wasn't mistaken… no, he was sure of it. Dean was talking. To himself. In profile, Sam caught Dean flash a brilliant smile at absolutely nothing.

Sam scowled silently, that disquieted snake that had finally calmed down rattling back to life in the pit of his stomach.

He knew how far he'd get trying to confront Dean about anything that included the phrases 'do you feel okay', 'are you feeling alright' or 'is something wrong?', so instead of braving that rebuttal, he impulsively dug into his jeans pocket and fished out his cell phone.

Sam didn't really have anything to say to Bobby, didn't want to out and out rat out his brother to the only person left close to them, but Bobby saw through Sam's 'just called to say hey' smokescreen for the flimsy guise it was. He asked if Sam was okay. When Sam assured he was, Bobby asked knowingly, "Then what's wrong with Dean?"

Sam felt like he'd been _waiting_ for someone to ask. "Honestly… I don't know, Bobby. He hasn't been acting really like himself since Joliet."

"Joliet… that was that djinn you boys took out, right?"

"Yeah."

"How long was that brother of yours its prisoner again?"

Sam thought about that a moment. "Not really sure. No more than a few hours, though. When Dean didn't show up at the motel and didn't answer his phone, I went looking for him." Sam watched Dean from a distance. His brother was sitting still, but not tensely. There was an easiness to his posture Sam honestly hadn't seen in a long time. That it was back should reassure Sam, but it didn't.

"Dean told me a little bit about where he thought he went when the djinn worked its mojo on him," Sam said lowly, "but maybe more happened than he would tell me, because… I don't know, he's just been… _different_."

"Well, truth is, Sam, those djinn are heavy duty when it comes to mind games. Very few people can take themselves out of that state of mind like your brother did. It screws with a person, and the cleansing process to purge the influence of the djinn…"

"What cleansing process?" Sam asked, stomach beginning to knot.

Bobby went dead silent a second. "What cleansing… you mean you didn't… ah, _hell_, Sam!"

"What? What, Bobby?!"

"Didn't you boys look into the recovery phase of a djinn attack?" Bobby snarled.

"Uh… not really. I mean, it was dead, Dean said he was fine… he was kind of touchy about the whole thing, so I didn't push. What cleansing process?"

"I'll see if I can explain this right… what your brother experienced when the djinn put the whammy on him… it was real to his mind and body. Yeah, he came out of it and he _knows_ it wasn't real, but the brain doesn't work like that. It's already accepted those people as real people. If you met someone tomorrow, talked to them, ate with them, touched them, and then I tell you 'by the way, it wasn't real', you gonna think back on all those moments with that person and remember them as not real? If I told you _Jessica_ was never real, how much difference would it make to you when you think about her now?"

Sam stiffened defensively, railing that Bobby would use Jessica. There was plenty between the Winchesters and Bobby that was fair game, but not _Jessica_. Bobby wasn't allowed to touch her, not even her memory…

…which Sam figured was Bobby's whole point.

"How does Dean's memory of that other life explain how he's acting now?" Sam asked cagily.

"Because those ain't just memories. Those are supped up memories on steroids. Djinn mean for them to be, so they'll be _convincing_ to their victims. Inescapable, you could say. If the djinn victim isn't cleansed of the marker in their memory that the djinn put on them, the thing that make them so strong and realistic, the victim doesn't completely stop living in that world. First just in dreams, but if the djinn prey goes long enough without treatment, those memories will start to show up during their waking hours."

Sam watched Dean turn his head again and talk to air.

Sam gaped. "Oh _shit_, Bobby."

"I'd say serves you idjits right for not following up on your research, but I won't waste my breath. Just get your brother here and we'll see what we can do."

"See?" Sam parroted.

Bobby sighed. "Longer this goes untreated, the more ingrained the memories become. And truthfully, the cleansing ritual is kind of…"

"Of _what_?"

"Not a lot of people get nabbed by djinn these days, all right? I've never actually done it before, and I don't know anyone who has. Look, I'll bone up on it, I've got an old book around here, you just get your brother here."

* * *

Dean felt peaceful. Relaxed. Hell, he might go so far as to say _content_. Their last hunt was done and behind them, nothing to race toward ahead of them, only the open road, a classic car for wheels, his brother along for the ride, and a remarkable woman at his side. Life was pretty damn good.

Carmen leaned into his side, wrapping her arms around his. "You're so handsome when you smile," she purred as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Dean smiled. "Why shouldn't I smile? I feel good."

Carmen freed one hand to rub the length of his spine soothingly. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "What do you say when we find a motel, you and I take a _long_ shower together?"

"Oh _god_, yes," Dean almost moaned. Before he could really stop himself, a hauntingly familiar phrase fell from his lips. "How did I end up with such a cool chick?"

Carmen's eyes glittered merrily at him as she faked a serious face and answered, "I've just got low standards."

Dean wanted to grab her up and hold her close, but Sam was still around somewhere. Dean wouldn't subject his little brother to his big brother's rampant PDAs. Instead, he just took one of Carmen's hands in his own then clasped his free hand over the top, holding her smaller hand between his. Carmen rested her head on his shoulder with a content sigh, sidling closer to Dean's side until their bodies were flush, her left side to his right.

Dean started when Sam plopped down on the table next to him without preamble. Dean had been so into Carmen, he hadn't even noticed Sam coming back from his walk.

Dean looked over at Sam and his eyebrows rose at the prissy, annoyed expression on Sam's face.

"Did you step in something, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam just frowned harder. "Who is it, Dean?"

"Who's what?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Whoever it is from the djinn world that you're seeing and talking to."

To Be Continued…


	8. Chapter 8

A day and a half out from Bobby's, Dean insisted that they stop for the night. Sam wanted to drive straight through, but Dean would have none of it. Sam pouted and fumed about Dean's decree for sleep, but in the end relented to Dean's concern for the safe operation of his precious car.

When they'd settled into the room for the night, ordered Chinese take-out, and unwound from the long hours on the road, Sam went from brooding and moody to inquisitive.

Oddly, Dean didn't mind. There was something _validating_ about telling Sam all about Carmen. He talked like he was _proud_ of her, because he was. Sam was disturbed as hell by how unbothered Dean was about having an 'imaginary girlfriend', but he and Carmen humored Sam like a tantrum-prone child. They let him think she wasn't real if it made him more manageable.

"So… she's here in the room right now?" Sam asked, pacing the floor with his arms crossed. Dean, seated at the small room table with his feet crossed on the nearest bed, looked across the room at Carmen sitting Indian-style on the other mattress, watching Sam fret with a patient, indulgent half-smile on her face. She met Dean's gaze and winked at him.

Dean smiled. "I told you, dude, she's always here."

"And this doesn't _worry_ you?"

Dean resumed chasing the last noodles in the carry-out box with his spork. "Not really."

Sam threw his hands up, scrubbed his hands through his hair, and flopped down on the end of the bed on which Carmen sat. She jostled when he dropped his weight down on the bed and looked toward Dean. "Should we get our own room? Maybe I'm upsetting him."

Dean shrugged with one shoulder. "We can if you want. You know I won't protest the privacy." He grinned wolfishly at Carmen, who blushed.

Sam looked up, agog. "Are you actually just _carrying on a conversation_ with her?"

Dean tossed aside the empty take-out carton. "I think you're over-reacting to all this, Sammy."

"ME?! I'm over-reacting?? Dean, you have an _imaginary girlfriend_."

Dean began to frown, something dark and unpleasant spreading from his chest outward.

"You get that she isn't _real_, don't you?" Sam pressed insistently.

Dean dropped his feet to the floor with a thud and sat up, leveling a sharp glare at Sam.

"Come on, man," Sam continued, "it's not like you ever lack for women. Why indulge this… fantasy? I might not love the women you sleep with indiscriminately, but at least they're –"

Dean didn't let Sam finish. Furious, he rose to his feet and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

"What –" Sam began, but Dean was already at the door.

"_Shut up, Sam_," he growled, then he looked past his brother to Carmen. "We don't have to listen to this. Let's go, baby."

Sam's jaw dropped. Carmen got off the bed and went to Dean. Together, she and Dean left the room.

* * *

"You know he's just upset," Carmen said softly, reclined against the back door on the driver's side as she watched Dean closely in the dark while half-sprawled in the Impala's back seat, her knees crooked and her legs draped over Dean's lap. Dean, sitting low in the back seat behind the passenger seat, scowled.

They weren't far from the motel. Just far enough to be _elsewhere_. They'd go back. They both knew they would. They wouldn't ditch Sam like that, no matter how big a pain in the ass he was being. But for now, they wanted to be alone.

"Sammy gets that way," Dean grunted acknowledgment, idly running his hand up and down Carmen's shin. Her bare feet bounced ever so faintly in the lamplight of the nearest street post. It was a road little traveled… since parking, Dean and Carmen had not seen another car pass.

Carmen watched Dean with gentle, quiet patience. She knew when Dean needed to stew.

"I don't get why he begrudges me being _happy_," Dean groused. "Is that really asking so much? Can he be that selfish?"

Carmen shook her head. "It's not like that. Sam loves you; he wants you to be happy."

"He wants you to leave," he countered bitterly. Dean turned to look at Carmen. "The two are mutually exclusive, baby."

Carmen smiled softly. "I love you, too."

Dean's lips twitched, almost in a smile, and he scrunched down further in the bench seat. Carmen bent one leg and rested the sole of her foot on his knee. She looked up in thought, sighing. "Maybe he just doesn't know how to share you."

Dean looked thoughtfully at her. Carmen gave a shrug. Then she quirked one eyebrow. "Truth is, I don't share you very well, either."

Taken off guard for a second by the turn in conversation, Dean cocked his head at her in question. A slow grin spread over Carmen's face, and she let her eyes drop purposefully down his lazily sprawled body. Her glance was undeniably hungry and possessive.

His woes with Sam all but forgotten, Dean turned out from underneath her legs and fixed a lustful stare on her. Carmen sat up and reached for him, the two coming together in a heated kiss.

Dean drew fractionally away, shaking with the effort and dying to just let go and make love to her, but he fought the desire. A tiny, scared part of him wanted to make this moment last.

A tiny part of him was afraid it could be the last.

He pulled his lips from hers and buried his head in the crook of her neck. Her hair was warm, soft, and touched with the ghost of vanilla. Dean put his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Don't leave me, Carmen… _don't leave me_."

Carmen kissed his neck, her lips on the pulse point just behind his ear. "I'm never leaving you. I love you."

"I love you, too," Dean croaked. He clenched his eyes shut, desperate to make it last forever.

Carmen was having none of it. She climbed into his lap, awkward though it was in the car, framed his face in her hands, and kissed him. Dean was helpless to fight that.

Carmen was a goddess in the light of the street lamp, too beautiful for everything around her, but there she was giving herself to Dean. Not since the Greeks had a mortal man known such divine ecstasy with a deity come to the world.

Dean filled all his senses with her. Made her a universe all her own for him to know. He loved her, every last inch of her, wanted to hold her forever. He wanted to leave with her, take her somewhere safe, and protect her for anyone who wanted to harm her.

Dean held her tight and kissed her like she might be gone tomorrow. Like that was the last night he would see her. He moved his assault from her mouth to her neck, and Carmen began to breathe fast, and somewhere '_Dean_' bled into '_iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_'.

Carmen interlaced her fingers behind his neck, and Dean brought his hands up and closed his fingers around her forearms. Just in case she tried letting him go.

Carmen kissed his hair. "Don't let me go," she said softly.

Dean's grip turned fierce.

They remained like that for a while, reveling in being tangled with each other. It was wonderful, but they eventually had to move. They had to go back. They couldn't and wouldn't ditch Sam.

* * *

To Be Continued…


	9. Chapter 9

Three blow-out fights and four days later, the black Impala pulled into Bobby Singer's Salvage Yard. Bobby was greeted by two very surly, unpleasant Winchesters. Dean slammed the driver's door shut and stormed past Bobby without so much as a hello.

Bobby turned to Sam for explanation, and Sam was all bitchface and fuming annoyance.

Not one for family drama, especially with the chalk-full of drama Winchesters, Bobby laid into Sam. "I thought I told you the longer this goes, the harder it's going to be to flush out," Bobby snarled. "What the hell took you so long?"

Sam, usually possessing of a much longer fuse, snapped, "_He's_ what took so long! He doesn't want to do it, Bobby! I practically had to tie him up and throw in him the back seat to get him to come here. Dean wants to keep seeing that invisible woman!"

Bobby gaped, wondered briefly where the afflicted Winchester in question had stomped off to, then decided he better start at the beginning. "All right, well, tell me who exactly Dean's seeing." Naturally, Bobby assumed it was Mary. He could understand why Dean wouldn't want his mother to disappear, even a hallucination of her. But he had decided to let Sam tell it; with that kid, the telling was cathartic in its own right.

"Her name's Carmen," Sam answered.

"_Carmen_?"

Sam nodded. "Apparently, she's his girlfriend."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "A _girlfriend_?" Bobby tried to wrap his head around that… and failed. "Dean's going all Sixth Sense over a girlfriend? Doesn't that sound a little out of character for your brother?" That older Winchester boy could – and did – walk into a bar and come out with just about any woman he set his eyes on. Why bother daydreaming about something he could have any day of the week?

"You have no idea," Sam responded. "When I finally confronted him about still seeing things from the djinn hallucination, he starts _talking_ to her, like she's right there in the room with us. It was _creepy_."

Bobby frowned. "But he knows she's not really there, right?"

Sam looked up at Bobby, eyes forlorn. "_Honestly_, Bobby, I don't know if he does or not."

Bobby sighed. "Let me talk to your brother."

* * *

Dean was sitting on the hood of the hollowed-out body of a 1968 Shelby Mustang, Carmen sitting quietly beside him, when Bobby found him.

"Hey, Dean," Bobby said as he walked around to stand in front of Dean, purposefully making it hard for Dean not to look at him.

Dean scowled and did not answer.

Bobby, obviously content to wait it out, backed up to the twisted shape of a totaled Chevelle and sat down on the warped metal, hands in his pockets.

A show-down to see who cracked first began.

It was Carmen. She leaned toward Dean and asked softly, "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

Dean looked sharply at her.

Bobby caught the movement. "Hear something?"

Dean turned a fiery glare on Bobby. "Why don't you just come out and say it? You think I'm crazy, too."

"No, I don't. You're just _impaired_."

Dean barked out a humorless laugh.

Carmen lightly touched Dean's arm. "I think you two need to be alone."

"No," Dean automatically replied, but he bit his tongue before he said anything more to her in front of Bobby.

Carmen smiled reassuringly. "I'm coming back." Then she got off the Shelby and left. Dean didn't actually see where she went, but he didn't question it.

"It's not your fault, kid," Bobby continued. Dean wanted to laugh. Bobby thought Dean had been talking to _him_. "It's that damn djinn that got to you."

Dean crossed his arms petulantly. "Sam told me about the cleansing process you want to do."

Bobby nodded. "It's for the best."

Dean narrowed a disbelieving look at the older man.

Bobby, surprisingly, looked apologetic. "I don't want to have to do it, Dean." At Dean's sarcastic snort, Bobby continued, "Trust me, there are people I've lost… if I got them back, for _any_ reason, I wouldn't question it. Wouldn't want to change it." Bobby shrugged. "So I get it. But that's not reality, and people like us… we have little enough to hang on to without dealing with imaginary people." Bobby scuffed one tattered shoe in the dirt. "What happens when you let someone like Carmen become real to you? How's that going to interfere with the way you see spirits? Ghosts? You gotta keep that line between flesh and blood and _not_ razor sharp, Dean."

Dean scowled… he didn't like the fact that Bobby made sense.

"Hunters can't start making exceptions for the inhuman. Our lives depend on honed instincts that _know_ the difference between real and supernatural in a heartbeat. You can't have to think about it." Bobby frowned and readjusted his trucker's cap. "I know you probably love her, kid… but we gotta stop what's going on with you. It's not fair, but it has to be done."

Dean slumped against the faded car hood, sick with all the logic in Bobby's words.

Bobby knew when to retreat and when to push his point. He stood up and came close enough to put a hand on Dean's shoulder. The squeeze he gave Dean's shoulder was not unsympathetic. "We'll be inside when you're ready." With that, Bobby trudged back toward the house.

Dean buried his face in his hands, head bowed under the afternoon sun, very much aware of the Shelby under him and Carmen in front of him.

* * *

To Be Continued…


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Okay, so make fun of me if you must, but I only JUST NOW realized that this fanfiction site now has the capability to let authors reply back to feedback. *facepalm* In my defense, when I first signed on to this site YEARS ago that feature wasn't there, and I just never noticed that it got added until just now. So I will be actually replying to y'all… now that I know it can be done!

* * *

"Whoa… hold up a minute, Bobby," Dean said while he visibly balked. They were in Bobby's living room, surrounded on all sides by old books and scattered silver, iron, holy water, and car parts.

Bobby looked stern. "Quit being a baby."

Dean scowled at Bobby. "When you said a cleansing process, I was expecting something like an exorcism incantation."

Truthfully, Sam had been, too. He looked askance at Bobby standing in front of Dean holding up a syringe full of a murky brown liquid. Sam couldn't really say so (considering how hard it had been to get Dean to Bobby's in the first place), but he honestly shared Dean's misgivings when Bobby came out wielding a needle like Nurse Ratched.

"That crap the djinn put in you is more chemical than spiritual, so the cure is, too," Bobby returned. He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You saying you don't trust me, boy?"

"I trust you with a hell of a lot, Bobby, but letting you shoot me up with… whatever _that_ is," he gestured in disgust at the needle, "falls short."

Bobby snorted.

"What exactly is in that?" Sam asked, no longer able to hold back his uncertainty.

"Ground up plants, mostly, blended together and added to water," Bobby answered, "stuff from the Arabian peninsula – djinn homelands – that was _not_ cheap _or_ easy to come by." Bobby turned his gaze back to Dean. "I don't get why you're freaking out; all I want to do is give you one little shot. You wouldn't think twice about hobbling in here with your guts hanging out and say 'hey, Bobby, fix this'."

Sam smirked because that was true.

Dean frowned. "As a field medic, you're awesome, but something you whipped up with your Junior Chemistry Kit…"

Bobby sighed in frustration and turned to Sam. "All right, you hold him down, I'll inject him."

The shift in Dean was immediate. His body went on the ready, his eyes hunter-sharp. Sam was already bracing to refuse to let it go down that way. He opened his mouth to tell Bobby no, when Bobby lowered the needle and said to Dean, "Look, Dean… I'm not saying this doesn't suck, but ain't nothing in here's going to hurt you. It's all nature, nothing you wouldn't consider adding to a food dish, or rather, no one with a taste for exotic food wouldn't, just in lower concentrations and the right combination to counteract the markers of the djinn."

Dean glowered and shifted a look to Sam. Sam could only shrug. He knew they had man-handled Dean as far as they could – from now on, it had to be Dean's choice. Sam wouldn't force Dean to do it, especially now that an _injection_ was part of the plan.

With a snarl of disgust, Dean threw up his hands. "Fine. Give me your damn condiment shot."

Bobby nodded. "Good… now lay down on the couch."

Sam couldn't make out Dean's grumbling as he took off his jacket and threw it in a corner, but Bobby must have. "Told you already, it won't work if you're conscious. The brain works differently when you're awake, and it won't let this do its job," he waved the needle. "Besides which, where this all started was in your unconscious… that's where we have to fix it."

Dean eyed the cloth and bottle of chloroform at the ready on the end table next to the couch. He bristled. "For the record, I hate both of you right now."

"Duly noted," Bobby retorted dryly, "now lay down."

Dean did, scowled viciously the whole time. When he was flat on his back, Bobby took a paper towel wetted with alcohol and cleaned a patch of skin at the bend in Dean's elbow.

Sam inched closer to watch. He caught Dean's eye and paused at the shadow of _betrayal_ in his brother's eyes. Sam swallowed. "You're doing the right thing, Dean."

Bobby found Dean's vein, slid the needle in, and slowly injected the compound into his bloodstream.

Dean looked away. "Whatever."

When the needle was empty, Bobby set it aside and went for the bottle and cloth. "Hold his hands, Sam, in case he tries to resist the mask when he starts getting foggy."

Sam came closer to do as Bobby asked, closing his hands over each of Dean's wrists and holding them down to the couch. Dean kept his gaze resolutely on the ceiling, his jaw clenched.

Bobby dipped a splash of the knock-out liquid on the cloth and covered Dean's mouth and nose.

Dean blinked, took in a deep breath, then another. His eyes lost their fury and slipped into surprise and Sam felt Dean's hands try to wrest free. Sam held them tight. Dean's chest heaved in panic, then his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

Bobby kept the cloth in place a few more seconds, then pulled it away. He gave Dean's shoulder an experimental shake. Nothing. Dean was out.

Bobby sighed. "Well, that's it. Shouldn't take long."

Sam gently released Dean's wrists and looked up as Bobby started clearing away the supplies. "How will we know it's worked?"

"Dean will know soon as he wakes up."

* * *

"I, Carmen Porter, take you, Dean Winchester, to be my lawfully wedded husband. In good times and in bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as we both shall live."

"Dean?"

"I, Dean Winchester, take you, Carmen Porter, to be my lawfully wedded wife. In good times and in bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as we both shall live."

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

* * *

To Be Continued…


	11. Chapter 11

Awareness came back to him in blurs. Sounds smudged together, his vision was a fog of colors and light. For a moment, Dean just lay still as the world titled and turned in a kaleidoscope haze. It was easier to close his eyes and rest.

He might have, if someone hadn't pried his eyelid open and let in a brilliant light.

Dean grumbled crankily and turned his head from the onslaught.

"Dean?" Sam asked anxiously, far too close and far too loud.

Dean scowled with his eyes closed. "Fuck off."

Somewhere farther away, Bobby's voice emerged from the jumble of sound. "I see he hasn't lost his charming personality."

Dean wanted to be left alone, but Sam wasn't going to let that happen. "Come on, man, wake up."

Dean wanted to not obey, but Sam was worried (he could tell by the sound of his voice), and something innate in Dean made him respond to Sam in distress of any kind. With a groan of malcontent, Dean opened his eyes and began to struggle to a sitting position. He felt fuzzy and was pretty sure he was working on a magnificent headache.

Sam tried to help him into a sitting position, but Dean shook him off. "Back off, Samantha."

Dean didn't have to look to see the wounded, pleading look on Sam's face. That was mainly the reason Dean _didn't_ look. He got himself sitting up, legs thrown over the side of the couch, and he let his head hang a moment.

He felt like he needed a full ten minutes to get his wits about him, but Sam was back in his face. "Did it work?"

Dean blinked up at Sam. "Huh?"

Bobby came up from behind the couch and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He means is it just you, me, and Sam in the room?"

Oh… right.

Dean took a moment to look around the living room. He scanned the room full of books and auto parts at length. He looked at one side of the couch next to him, then the other. He looked back at Bobby then turned back around to look at Sam.

"It worked," he finally answered.

Sam sighed in relief. Bobby patted Dean's shoulder.

Dean rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. "If this party's over and Bobby's finished playing doctor – which you _suck_ at, by the way – I'm going upstairs and crashing in an actual bed. That shit you did is giving me a headache, Bobby."

Bobby shrugged. "Sorry… side-effect of the cleansing process, I guess."

"Glad you sound so certain about it," Dean groused, and he stood shakily. Sam surged forward as if to help, but Dean waved him off moodily. "Hey… personal space, princess."

Sam stepped back, still anxious but looking perky about it. "Yeah, sure… okay."

Dean gave his sense of balance a moment to rally then turned and headed for the stairs. "Wake me when the pizza gets here," he called back.

"What pizza?" Sam asked.

"The one you're ordering. I'm starving, and you stabbed me with a needle."

Sam smiled and Bobby chuckled. "Sure thing, kid."

Dean dragged himself up the stairs and pushed into one of the spare bedrooms unofficially belonging to the Winchester boys. He was lucky not to find it strewn with engine parts… sometimes when their visits were unannounced they got the couch and floor because the bed went to an engine block.

Dean plopped down on the end of the bed and took a deep breath, briefly raking his hands through his hair.

Then he smiled faintly and turned to look at Carmen. "Yeah, that totally didn't work," he said lowly.

Carmen grinned and put her arms around him.

END


End file.
